


Illusions of Grandeur

by aruarudayo



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hoshi Meguri (IDOLiSH7), Gen, discussions of violence and war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aruarudayo/pseuds/aruarudayo
Summary: After Carnelian becomes king, he inherits a new advisor: the Alban Star Sphere fragment
Kudos: 3
Collections: Celestial Skies Zine





	Illusions of Grandeur

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the [Celestial Skies Zine](https://twitter.com/ainanazines/status/1330661986498011136)! Please check it out if you can! This project turned out so nicely and there are so many talented people taking part in it!
> 
> I think my narrative voice ended up a little different from normal, but I hope it suits Carnelian's somber attitude in this fic. I still love Hoshimeguri a lot even now, and I jumped at the chance to write something Carnelian-centric. [Nisa on Twitter](https://twitter.com/atheire13) also drew art for this fic, which you can see [here](https://twitter.com/atheire13/status/1330688552250720256?s=20)! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and enjoy!

The night after Carnelian buries his father, he can’t sleep. 

Of course, he’s exhausted; besides the emotional stress from his ever-tumultuous feelings towards his father, the funeral itself meant following tedious formalities and socializing as both the bereaved heir and current king. Despite that, he finds himself roaming the palace after everyone falls asleep, even Lazu (though he’s sure his attendant is watching him one way or another). 

Perhaps it’s the terror keeping him awake, the fear of becoming a king when he was never good enough to be a person, let alone rule millions of others, the fear that the crown will make him just like his father. Or perhaps it’s the excitement of finally being out from under his father’s thumb, the thought that he might be able to change this world now that he’s king and allowed to think how he likes. Perhaps it’s equal parts of both, and it’s the clash of the two that makes relaxing impossible.

Regardless, he makes his way out of his quarters and through the halls, the soft shuffle of his slippers sounding too loud in the quiet palace. He doesn’t think too hard about where he’s going, disengaging his mind rather than letting thoughts of his father or his duties as a king overwhelm him. 

His surroundings stop being familiar as he enters a part of the castle he rarely visits. Portraits of the past decorate the walls, previous kings and queens posing in luxury or outright fantasy, the paint seeming to glitter in the moonlight like the gems that surround each of his ancestors. 

At the end of the hall is his father, looking down his nose at Carnelian, and though it’s just a painting, Carnelian still feels small all the same, a powerless child once again. The painting was commissioned at the height of his father’s madness, and it’s the only one that features the sun, bright and beautiful and completely out of place on their world of eternal night. 

“Ridiculous,” Carnelian says quietly to himself, the word echoing into every painted ear in the hall. Memories flash through his head of bloodsoaked sand, the once bright sky shadowed by smoke. Bodies lie along the dunes, massacred enough that their own forces are practically indistinguishable from the opposition. The sounds of fighting ring in his ears, and that’s when Carnelian shakes his head, turning away from his father’s tangible delusion and his own reverie. 

He still has nightmares of war, which is something his father’s death won’t take away. Perhaps the madness will take him, too, from reliving that horror in his sleep. At the very least, he’ll be different. He’ll put an end to such fighting. He’ll make a world where war won’t exist. 

Not that he has any plans for how to accomplish that. He sighs internally, any confidence and determination he’d gained staring at his father’s portrait dissipating into thin air. 

His feet continue moving almost unconsciously, tempted by a silent siren song until he finds himself at the threshold of the room housing Alba’s Star Sphere fragment. The protective barrier around the room means nothing to members of the royal family, but still, he pauses, feeling on the precipice of...something. He isn’t sure what though, and it’s that lack of understanding that has him stepping towards the fragment without any more hesitation.

Alba's fragment is easily the most beautiful jewel on the planet, a deep golden color that almost seems alive. The longer Carnelian looks into the semi-translucent gem, the more he feels like he's being sucked in, and before he knows it, his hand reaches out, his fingertips grazing the smooth surface.

_ My king. _

Power pulses through his body, a tangle of voices echoing deafeningly in his head, as if the empty room is filled with countless others, all chanting the same words. 

_ My king. _

_ My king. _

_ My king has come.  _

Excited chattering fills Carnelian’s ears like static, incomprehensible as he struggles to keep himself from being overwhelmed by the noise. Clutching his head, he grits out, “Who are you?”

The voices come together, speaking as one.  _ We speak for the Star Sphere.  _

Carnelian stares at the fragment, his own incredulous face reflected in its surface. “The Star Sphere?” 

_ We’ve been waiting. _

“For what?”   
  
_ For a king to hear our cries. For a king to hear our wish.  _

“Wish?” Carnelian is all too familiar with wishes, his life comprised of endless wishing to be stronger, smarter, better—anything other than himself. “What could the all-powerful Star Sphere possibly wish for?”

The fragment seems to shine, as if beckoning him closer. 

_ We wish to be whole again. _

Carnelian immediately scoffs at that. “You found the least useful king to grant your wish; even if I, too, wished for the Star Sphere to be whole again, no other king would even consider it, much less as a suggestion from the youngest and least experienced of them all. The stability of our universe depends on the Star Sphere being split between the six planets.”

_ Yet you heard our voices. You must have a wish as well.  _

A presence slips into Carnelian’s mind, flipping through his thoughts and memories like an open book. His life flashes before his eyes—his lessons, his daily humiliation, his short-lived respite with his one and only friend—until finally it settles, his vision swimming through the bloody sands of Eterno. 

“No!” he screams, and the image quickly disappears, as if taking pity on him. 

_ Your wish is kind, _ the voices say. 

“It’s  _ naive _ ,” Carnelian sneers bitterly. “If there is one thing my father taught me, it is that the universe is incapable of granting my wish.”

_ Perhaps there is a way. _

A different image manifests before him—illusions of five other gems surrounding the Alban fragment, idly revolving around it like planets around the sun.  _ The Star Sphere can grant any wish. Even a wish for a world with no war. _

The fragments converge, transforming into a beautiful crystalline sphere.  _ We wish to be whole _ , they repeat.  _ We will guide you and your planet to prosperity and grant you your wish. All we ask is to be whole once more. _

The illusions disperse, as do the voices, and Carnelian is suddenly left alone, staring once more at the Alban fragment. 

He wants to be a good king. He wants his wish to come true. He’s wanted a lot of things, and maybe, just maybe, he can make his dreams a reality with his own two hands. 

His lips curl into a determined smile, his fingers curling around the Star Sphere fragment with newfound strength. “I’ll do it,” he says, the gem seeming to glimmer in response. “Our wishes will come true. I’ll make sure of it.”

The voices return, a manageable buzz in the back of his head.  _ Our blessings to you, King Carnelian. _

Clutching the Star Shard fragment close, Carnelian makes his way back to his room, not even sparing his father's portrait a glance this time. He meets Lazu on the way.

"King Carnelian," his attendant greets, the picture of composure. His usual mask is missing, though; he must have rushed out as soon as he realized Carnelian wasn't in bed.

Reflexively, Carnelian slips the gem under his sleeve. "Lazu. Apologies for leaving without saying anything. I couldn't sleep, so I went for a wal.k.”   
  
“Should I cancel your morning appointments so you can rest?”

“No.” Carnelian surprises himself, both in his conviction and in how he doesn’t feel tired at all. “I’m ready.”

As if in agreement, the Star Sphere fragment hidden under his sleeve hums quietly. 


End file.
